


we're lost (and we're finding each other)

by BurningFairytales



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (nothing too graphic), M/M, Mentions of Blood, Roadtrip, Some Descriptions of Violence, post The King's Men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningFairytales/pseuds/BurningFairytales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “Pack up,” Andrew said. “We leave in twenty minutes.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Not fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in his orange team hoodie, Neil met him in the living room. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/> </p><p>Or, the one where Neil and Andrew take some time off to themselves and take a roadtrip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Newport

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note in advance: updates will probably be slow. I've got four other fics I'm trying to work on, I still need to translate the German bits in the second and third book, and then there's uni and work to worry about.  
> But I will get them done damnit, even if it kills me!  
> Another important note: I might add additional tags as this goes on; I haven't really planned ahead for this fic, so I don't know what's going to happen yet. Just so you're prepared.
> 
> So yes, this is your obligatory roadtrip fic! (I keep wanting to call it "AU" - It's not an AU, Kaylie, what is wrong with your brain.)
> 
> Anyway, tumblr user [oblivisci-me-non](http://oblivisci-me-non.tumblr.com/) prompted me to do one, so here it is :D  
> (Hope you like it, Sam! :D)
> 
>  
> 
> Title is taken from the song "48 to go" by The Fray, which is practically the title song for this fic tbh.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note in advance: updates will probably be slow. I've got four other fics I'm trying to work on, I still need to translate the German bits in the second and third book, and then there's uni and work to worry about.  
> But I will get them done damnit, even if it kills me!  
> Another important note: I might add additional tags as this goes on; I haven't really planned ahead for this fic, so I don't know what's going to happen yet. Just so you're prepared.
> 
> So yes, this is your obligatory roadtrip fic! (I keep wanting to call it "AU" - It's not an AU, Kaylie, what is wrong with your brain.)
> 
> Anyway, tumblr user oblivisci-me-non prompted me to do one, so here it is :D  
> (Hope you like it, Sam! :D)
> 
>  
> 
> Title is taken from the song "48 to go" by The Fray, which is practically the title song for this fic tbh.
> 
> My friend [Sasha](http://gadelingsofthegalaxy.tumblr.com/) made an amazing and beautiful edit for my fic which I love SO MUCH and I wanted it in my fic, so here it is.  
> Thank you Sasha!!! ILU :D

_From Denver to California,_  
_By way of Mexico,_  
_We're lost and we're finding each other,_  
_And we may never see the west coast,_  
_We may never see the west coast_  
  
_We're taking it slow,_  
_But for now we're 2 down and 48 to go_

_ _

 

 

Andrew takes one look at him, at the duffel in his hand, and gets up. He motions for Neil to walk ahead through the door and closes it behind them.

When they get down to the parking lot, he throws his own bag into the trunk of the Maserati without a word. Neil looks at it for a moment before doing the same.

Not two minutes later, they’re on the road.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

It’s Thursday, late in the afternoon, or early in the evening; the clock on the dashboard shows it’s quarter to six – it’s actually off by a couple of minutes, but no one’s mentioned it yet.

Andrew casts him a sideways glance through pale lashes before returning his eyes on the road. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and then raises his shoulders in a lazy shrug and replies, “You tell me.”

Neil thinks about what occured not half an hour ago. He'd been out for a quick jog around the campus, and the first thing that greeted him upon returning to their room had been Andrew throwing his duffel at him.

“Pack up,” he’d said. “We leave in twenty minutes.”

Neil hadn’t been given any time to reply before Andrew disappeared into the living room. He wasn’t a stranger to sudden departures, and he had packing down to an art form. Andrew hadn’t told him where they were going, or how long they’d be gone for, but if he said to pack, Neil was sure it was going to take more than a day. He’d thrown some clothing into the bag; put his keys, phone and charger in as well, before grabbing a set of spare clothes and went into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Not fifteen minutes later and dressed in his orange team hoodie, he’d met Andrew in the living room.

“I don’t understand,” he tells Andrew now.

“You wanted to go somewhere during spring break.”

“We went to Blue Ridge with the team,” Neil wants to remind him, but he understands what Andrew means. Neil had wanted them – and Kevin – to go somewhere just for the sake of going, and while having a holiday with the team was the most fun he’d ever had, the circumstances of those few days off hadn’t really been preferable.

Besides, going somewhere with just the two of them is different.

Instead, he asks, “Kevin?”

Andrew’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but they relax so quickly that Neil almost wonders if he imagined it.

“He’s with Coach. Renee is keeping an eye on him.”

Neil likes the idea of just the two of them, but he knows it couldn’t have been easy for Andrew to leave him, not even with Renee’s protection.

Not even with Riko out of the picture.

“Okay,” he says, eventually. Because Andrew knows exactly what he is doing, and if Andrew decided that this is something he is willing to do, Neil isn’t going to argue with him. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

They drive northwest for a while and then follow the I-26 on a whim, before merging onto the I-40 because there is less traffic. Neil has never gone anywhere without knowing exactly where they were going to end up – his mother always had a clear destination in mind. This time, he doesn’t have to pay attention to exit signs or how long they’ve been on the road. It’s as different as it’s interesting. They don’t talk for the first hour of their drive. It’s a comforting silence; Neil is content to just stare out of the window, watching the road and the increasingly darkening sky.

“So how long are we away for?” Neil asks, a bit after they passed they exit sign for Ashville.

The season’s over; there is no official practice for another month. Of course Neil and Kevin have kept up their evening sessions, but they don’t have any real obligations except classes, and missing one or two days isn’t going to break their neck.

“Saturday, maybe Sunday.” Andrew looks at him. “Can you manage that long away from the court, or should I turn around?”

“I’m not Kevin,” Neil says. Belatedly he realises that Andrew isn’t serious. There’s a slight lift in the corner of Andrew’s mouth. It would be easy to miss for anyone else, but Neil has spent so many moments committing his face to memory. He knows it as well as his own.

“What happens at the end of this term, anyway?” Neil asks. “Are the others going home?”

Andrew inclines his head. “Dan and Renee are going home, and so is Matt. I don’t know about Allison now that Seth is gone.”

“What about you? Kevin?”

“What about him?”

“I’m just wondering if you’ll all be staying with Abby, or if Kevin’s going to spend some time with Coach.”

It was a strange situation. Neil didn’t really understand how a regular family was supposed to work – he’d never been close to his mother, not on an emotional level at least, and his father was a different story entirely.

Andrew takes a moment to consider this. He taps his fingers on the wheel a few times in an irregular rhythm, before replying, “I suppose that depends on how this weekend is going to go.”

Neil inclines his head, thinking this over. He’s playing with the strings on his hoodie, distracted, and doesn’t see Andrew move before there’s a hand pressing against the back of his neck.

Neil turns to face him, but he isn’t looking at him, staring instead at the road ahead.

“If Kevin stays with Coach, we’ll all stay at Abby’s. She won’t mind. I can keep an eye on him, and you’ll be near the court,” Andrew tells him. “If Kevin doesn’t stay with Coach, we’re all going to stay in Columbia.”

“But you could still stay with Abby if Kevin stays with Coach.”

“I forgot how much of an idiot you are,” Andrew says.

Neil frowns. “Why’s that?”

“We’ll stay in Columbia, because there will be too many of us to crash at her place, and it doesn’t matter if I have to drive one maniac to campus every day, or two.”

“But-“ Neil starts, and then stops. Andrew isn’t just making plans according to his promise to Kevin – he’s including Neil. He’s not going to stay on campus if Kevin won’t stay with Coach, because then Neil wouldn’t be able to stay with them – even if that would save him two two-hour drives to and from campus every day.

There’s a small smile forming on his lips that he doesn’t quite stop, but he looks away and out of the window before Andrew catches him.

 

* * *

 

They take the exit near Newport to refuel, and Neil gets out of the car. It’s half past eight; they’ve been driving for over two hours now, and it’s already dark outside. There’s another car at the gas station. Neil passes it as he walks over to the small shop. It’s an older model, even Neil can tell – the green paint is starting to flake off at some spots, and there are a few dents and scratches along the side.

Inside the car, a small dog’s leaning against the window. It barks when he walks past, but the waggling tail indicates it’s not meant to be aggressive. Still, Neil looks back to see Andrew glancing his way. He apparently deems the situation non-threatening and returns his attention to the gas pump nozzle in a matter of seconds.

There are two other people inside the shop. Probably the owner of the other car and dog, he thinks. Neil grabs two prepacked sandwiches from the cooling shelf, and pours two drinks from the vending machine:  coffee for himself and hot chocolate for Andrew.

He takes everything to the register in a precarious balancing act he hopes won’t end in a failure, hesitating only a second before adding one of the maps of Tennessee that are on display on the counter.

Back outside, Andrew has moved the car to one of the adjacent parking spaces and is leaning against the side of it. He watches for a moment as Neil fumbles with the door, trying to open it without spilling the drinks, but when he takes too long, Andrew reaches out and does it himself.

Neil throws the plastic bag with the sandwiches on the passenger seat and hands Andrew his cup.

With the sun gone, the temperature’s sinking from relatively cool to chilly, and Neil his own drink in both hands, thankful the warmth of both the coffee and of his hoodie. He looks at Andrew, who is wearing a long-sleeved shirt – no jacket – and wonders, not for the first time, how he can be so unaffected by the weather.

Andrew catches him looking. “What?” he asks.

Raising the cup to his lips, Neil shrugs. “Just wondering how you’re not cold.”

“I don’t get cold easily.”

“Nor hot, apparently.”

“Nor hot,” Andrew agrees.

Neil is still sipping his coffee when Andrew finishes his drink. He tosses the cup into a nearby trashcan – it hits the edge before landing neatly inside – and lights two cigarettes, handing one to Neil.

“I bought a map,” Neil tells him, taking the cigarette Andrew holds out, and opens the door again to fish it out of the plastic bag, as well as a black marker from the glove compartment. “I thought it might help us plan where to go.”

Andrew takes a drag of his cigarette and pushes away from the car. He walks to the front and motions towards the hood.

Neil spreads the map out against it and traces a finger from Palmetto University to Newport, uncapping the marker and drawing a small ‘x’ over it.

He studies the surrounding cities for a moment. There are things to look for that his mother drilled into him – size and population, the main roads, general location – he tries very hard not to think about them now, but they’re seared into his brain and he has to actively try and block them out as he’s looking at the map now. The smell of smoke and ashes only intensifies the memories, and he drops the cigarette, crushing it beneath his foot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Andrew looking at him.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?” Neil asks, even though he already knows the answer. Andrew, as he has so often insisted, doesn’t want anything.

“No,” Andrew says, as predicted.

“Are you going to help me pick something out anyway? I know nothing about these cities,” Neil says, before amending, “Nothing that matters.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Andrew asks, but edges closer anyway, looking at the map.

Neil just shrugs. “It means that if I don’t know what there is to see, how will I know I want to see it?”

They spend about the next few minutes tracing roads and picking out which cities to go to. A few ideas are rejected right away, other cities Neil doesn’t mention, but keeps in mind for future roadtrips.

He puts ‘x’s over the cities they decide on, and draws dotted lines over the best routes there, just because he can.

 When they’re done, Neil folds the map together.

“We’re not going to be that far away from campus,” Andrew notes.

“I think we’re good. We’re well past the three-hour line, at any rate.”

“Why did you only look at places within a four hundred mile radius?”

Neil isn’t surprised he noticed, though he didn’t think Andrew would ask about it.

“Well for one, because we only have the weekend, right? I want to make the most out of this, if we can. And besides, I didn’t think you wanted to be too far away from Kevin, in case something happens.”

Neil turns toward him, and Andrew grabs his collar. It’s a decisive movement, but his hold on Neil is loose. “That’s not for you to worry about,” Andrew says.

Putting the folded map down again, Neil puts his hand around Andrew’s without actually touching them, just letting them hover a breath away from his skin.

“Maybe it’s not,” he says. “Let me do it anyway.”

Andrew’s hands wander from Neil’s collar to his throat, and Neil leans in.

When they kiss, Neil can taste hot chocolate on Andrew’s lips. He hadn’t lied; Andrew – his hands, his lips, his breath – everything about him is warm despite the growing cold around them.

Neil buries his hands in Andrew’s hair as he deepens the kiss.

They break apart moments later, and Andrew lets go of him. He looks at him for a second longer and then takes a step back, picks up Neil’s discarded coffee cup and throws it into the trash.

Like the one before it, it ends up neatly inside.

Neil looks at the trashcan for another moment, still a little dazed. He shakes his head, gets the map and marker from the hood and walks around to the passenger door, opening it and climbing in without squashing the sandwiches that are still in the plastic bag on the seat.

Andrew, who’s already in the driver’s seat, reaches back and pulls his jacket from the backseat. It’s the one Nicky got both of them when he got back home from New York. He shoves it at Neil, before starting the car and turning the heat up.

Neil considers asking about it, but then figures Andrew wouldn’t appreciate Neil pointing out that he’s doing something nice. Instead, he gratefully takes the coat and throws it over himself like a blanket. It smells like nicotine and the sharp smell of alcohol, and something that is so undeniably _Andrew_ that Neil buries his head deeper in it.

He thinks Andrew probably notices, but he doesn’t say anything.


	2. Jamestown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are beds. And breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the chapter!  
> Oh god, that took forever. Writing intimacy is really difficult for me; I hope I managed to do it convincingly.  
> Thanks so much to my friends [Vex](http://vex-vern.tumblr.com) \- for listening to me complain and motivating me - and [ Hazel](http://foxholemadness.tumblr.com) \- for helping me out, checking for errors, and letting me use her idea of Andrew buying Neil nice things because Neil is shit at taking care of himself.  
> I adore you guys <3

_Wir können die nächste Ausfahrt nehmen_  
_Oder noch weiter fahren_  
_Ja ich weiß, es ist schon spät_  
_Komm wir fahren durch die Nacht_  
_Bis wir die Sonne sehen  
_ _Sag mir nicht, dass das nicht geht_

 

 

They make it to their next destination – a city called Jamestown, Tennessee – with little to no trouble. Finding a place to stay proves a bit harder as Neil isn’t willing to spend the extra money that comes with finding a hotel in the city centre, and they pass two motels on their way whose “no vacancy” signs were already illuminated.

Andrew doesn’t say anything about Neil’s reluctance to spend that little extra cash, even considering they aren’t going to stay for more than one night – maybe two if they like the city – and the fact that they have enough money to spend; he just gives a nod to show he heard him when Neil voices his opinion and keeps driving.

They finally find a motel with still-available rooms a little way off – maybe about 8 or 9 miles away from the city.

Neil is fine with that, and Andrew only glances at him before pulling into their parking lot, so Neil supposes he doesn’t mind.

It’s around half past ten when they finally make it to their room – there are two single beds because that’s what was available. The cream-coloured wallpaper matches the odd hue of the carpet; Neil isn’t sure exactly what to call the weird mix of brown and grey. Taupe, maybe.

Thick, dark curtains cover the window at the far end of the room. Below that are a table and two chairs made of thick, sturdy wood – the same wood  the beds are made out of.

It’s a small room, but it appears clean, and the bed doesn’t creak when Neil sits down on it. He’s spent nights in way worse sleeping arrangements and considers it more than enough to spend the night in, but he looks at Andrew to gauge his reaction.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Andrew looks around the room, eyebrow raising a bit when he looks at the beds, but doesn’t immediately say anything. Eventually, he throws his bag onto the other bed and replies, “This is fine,” before sitting down.

Neil lets himself fall back on the mattress. It’s surprisingly soft. He isn’t really tired – having a set schedule that includes staying out with Kevin and Andrew every night to practise Exy will do that – but after sitting in the car for about four hours, stretching out a little feels good.

“So what was that earlier?”

Neil raises his head to find Andrew staring at him. “What was what?”

“Earlier,” Andrew draws the word out like Neil was being intentionally dense. “You said you didn’t know where to go, because you knew nothing that mattered. So what do you know that doesn’t matter?”

It’s not surprising, Neil supposes, that Andrew paid attention to that, nor the fact that he wouldn’t just let it go. In hindsight, he should have expected he would ask about it at some point.

Still, Neil smiles a little as he lets his head drop back down on the mattress. “Are you taking your turn, then?” He asks, casually.

He doesn’t see Andrew’s glare, but he feels it.

There is a beat of silence, and Neil thinks Andrew won’t reply, but then there’s the sound of rustling, and a second later something hits his chest before sliding off him with a crinkling noise. Neil raises a hand to his sternum and rubs it, because _ow_.

A look to the side reveals that Andrew threw one of the packaged sandwiches at him, the ones he’d bought at the gas station. He never would have thought anyone could throw them hard enough to hurt, but then again, this is Andrew.

“Fine,” Andrew says, “I am taking my turn then.”

Neil grins. Sitting up slowly, he unwraps his food. “It was nothing, really,” he says. “When I travelled with my mother, there were certain things to look for, you know? Things that made it safer to stay in certain cities. Population and size, of course. There has to be more than one main road out of the city, and a certain proximity to an airport never hurt, either. Just not too close, or else it would have been too obvious.” he said, looking at Andrew, to see if he minds the lengthy explanation. “You know we were in Europe for a while. We went from France to Canada because of the language overlap. And we made sure never to stray too far from my mother’s contacts.”

Neil picks at his sandwich absently, breaking a piece off and eating it if only to give him time to gather his thoughts. The fact that it’s Andrew sitting on that bed, listening, makes this a whole lot easier. Andrew is, after all, the person Neil trusts most in his life. And yet, it’s strange to talk about it at all.

 _Still_.

He thinks that might always be the case.

“So I know that Jamestown, for example, has a population of roughly two thousand, or that Nashville lies on the Cumberland River, that there’s an airport and that the city is located near three Interstate Highways,” He glances at Andrew to find him looking back. His sandwich is lying in his lap, unopened. “I know things like that. It’s always been important. But if it’s travelling just for the sake of it? None of it really matters.”

Andrew looks at him for a moment, and then opens his earlier discarded sandwich. “With that bit of extra knowledge, you might win at trivial pursuit the next time Nicky makes us play. Something to be proud of, I’m sure.”

Neil frowns at first, throwing the empty packaging back at Andrew, who dodges effortlessly. He ends up having to fight a smile though. Andrew doesn’t treat him any different no matter what Neil tells him – it’s why it’s easier to talk to him than anyone.

In the end, Neil gets ready for bed. He digs his set of sleeping clothes out of his duffel, washes up and gets changed. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes.

He stretches out on his bed again while Andrew is in the bathroom, and grabs a sports magazine from his bag that Kevin had given him the day before. It’s an old issue, but there’s an article on the different techniques of famous Exy strikers which he thought Neil should know about – not that Neil is complaining.

Andrew doesn’t take much longer than him, and Neil glances up when he comes back into the room. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and loose pants; his armbands still in place. When he notices what Neil is reading, he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s interesting,” Neil defends. “I think there’s a section on goalkeeper racquets at the back. Do you want to see it?”

It’s not like he’s expecting a reply, so he isn’t surprised when he doesn’t get one. What _does_ surprise him though is when Andrew walks over to him, takes the magazine from his hands and carelessly throws it on the nightstand. It slides over the surface and drops behind the back – a fact that Neil only notes somewhere at the back of his mind, because Andrew is grabbing the collar of his shirt and drags him up a bit before kissing him.

Neil isn’t going to complain about this, either.

They break apart for a moment, only for Andrew to press another kiss to his neck, just below his ear. “Yes or no?” he murmurs against his skin.

“Yes,” Neil says immediately. “Always yes.”

Pressing another kiss to his skin, Andrew loosens his hold on Neil’s shirt so that they both sink down on the mattress. He puts one hand in on Neil’s neck as he leans in for another kiss, and Neil opens his mouth without hesitation when he feels Andrew’s tongue gliding along his lower lip.

It’s a small bed, too small for the two of them, and they end up being pressed together chest to chest. Neil buries his hands in Andrew’s hair to prevent touching him anywhere he might not be comfortable with.

Andrew’s other hand wanders down the side of Neil’s body, from his shoulder, waist, and down to his hip, before trailing upwards again. He pauses a moment when he reaches the bottom of Neil’s shirt, and draws back just enough to look at him.

“Yes,” Neil says again, before Andrew has a chance to ask.

The hand slips under the fabric. Andrew traces the scars on Neil’s stomach, before he lifts the shirt up to his chest. Pressing another kiss to the corner of Neil’s mouth, Andrew pushes up and moves down a little.

Neil follows his movements, and Andrew slowly removes Neil’s hands from where they’re still buried in his hair. Instead, he guides them above Neil’s head.

Neil lets him do it without question. He just watches as Andrew positions his own arms to either side of Neil’s chest and lowers his head and kisses the scar that loops from the base of his throat to his collarbone; then plants another one at the leftovers of his bullet wound. Neil’s breath hitches.

Andrew drags his finger down the one that reaches down to Neil’s navel and finally presses his lips to the scar tissue on his abdomen. A small sound escapes Neil, something that’s both a sigh and a quiet moan, and he drops his head back on the pillow.

He doesn’t see it, but he feels Andrew tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants, and lifts his lower half a bit to give him better access. A second later, the pants are pulled down.

Andrew takes him into his mouth and all Neil feels is bliss.

* * *

 

A running shower is what wakes Neil the next day. He turns and sees that Andrew’s bed is empty – it’s a wonder he slept through the sound of him getting up; Neil has always been a light sleeper.

He closes his eyes for another moment and buries his head in the pillow, willing the day to wait a few more minutes before starting. When he hears the shower being turned off though, he smiles into fabric, pushes up on his elbows and waits for Andrew.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Andrew comes out of the bathroom not five minutes later, fully dressed, though his hair is still damp. He glances at Neil before grabbing his bag and stuffing his sleepwear inside.

“Give me ten minutes,” Neil says. “I’ll get ready now.”

Andrew motions towards the bathroom in a ‘ _go ahead’_ gesture, and Neil grabs his stuff before sliding off the bed.

He takes a shower, washing his hair quickly and efficiently, and brushes his teeth. Before getting dressed, he wipes the fogged up mirror and risks a glance. His hair is still auburn, and his eyes are still those of his father’s. He’s not yet entirely used to the scars on his face either; at least they distinguish Neil from _him_ , but they’re a painful reminder of everything that happened in Baltimore.

He looks away and gets dressed.

* * *

 

Jamestown is a relatively small place. Quiet, too, and the drive into the city is uneventful. Neil sees a sign pointing to a place called “Mac’s Diner” ahead, and gestures towards it. “Should we stop for breakfast? We haven’t really eaten anything since we set off.”

Andrew follows his movement and nods after a moment. “Might as well,” he replies.

The parking lot is not yet full, but there are quite a few cars already there. Andrew parks the car in an empty space not too far from the entrance, and Neil grabs his bag out of the trunk before they go inside.

It’s warm inside, much warmer than the chilly spring air. The people– there are maybe ten, twelve of them sitting at the tables – all look up when they open the door. Andrew goes in first, obviously unimpressed by the weight of everyone’s eyes on them, and Neil follows. The other customers return to their food as soon as the doors swings closed behind him.

A middle-aged waitress appears at their table not soon after they are seated. “Are you ready to order yet?”

It doesn’t surprise Neil when Andrew orders coffee and Belgian waffles for himself – topped with strawberries and whipped cream. He’d only taken a quick look at the menu, but that was enough to note and memorise exactly what he wanted. A small smile fights its way onto his lips by the way Andrew says it however: he ordered what Neil guesses might be the sweetest dish on the whole menu in his usual apathetic tone, like even the concept of food bored him.

The waitress raises an eyebrow at him, but Andrew doesn’t look at her, so she turns to Neil.

“And for you, sweetheart?”

Neil looks at Andrew a moment longer but then drags his eyes away to focus on her. He orders coffee, too, and two slices of toast. It’s a bit of an conditioned reflex since he generally doesn’t eat much, and being in a diner in a foreign city  brings back some of the automatism of travelling with his mother.

This had been his regular order whenever his mother felt anywhere was safe enough to eat out – coffee because it kept him awake; toast because it was light food.

Writing the last of his order, the waitress nods. “Well, if you need anything else, let me know,” she says, and leaves them alone.

Neil turns back to find Andrew staring at him. “What?”

Andrew reaches across the table and grabs Neil’s neck, pulling his head forward and down a little. “Is this another one of your issues?” he asks. “I told you before. One man can only have so many.”

“What do you –“ But before he can finish, Andrew lets go slides out of the booth. Neil watches as he walks over to the counter, pushing the one of the stools out of the way. Their waitress looks surprised to see him, considering he hadn’t bothered to look at her before – Neil can’t hear what they’re saying, but he sees the way her eyebrows raise before writing something down.

Andrew comes back after that, and looks at Neil as if daring him to ask.

Neil asks.

“What was that about?”

“You ask too many questions,” Andrew tells him. At Neil’s insistent stare, he continues, “I’m dealing with your problem.”

Neil doesn’t say ‘ _it was just toast,_ ’ even if it was. He decides he’ll see what Andrew did sooner or later anyway.

The waitress brings their coffee first, and then disappears back into the kitchen. When Neil looks over at Andrew again, he seems him typing on his phone.

Andrew catches him looking. “Renee,” he explains. “It looks like Kevin wasn’t happy with not being able to go to the court last night.”

“Ah.” Neil nods in understanding. It doesn’t surprise him that Andrew would check in with her to see how Kevin was doing. “It’s not that far. He could have run. Or walked. I’m sure Renee would have gone with him; she offered to go with me the first few times.”

Instead of replying, Andrew types something else on his phone.

“Or,” Neil continues, “if Kevin doesn’t want to walk, tell him to ask Matt. I’m sure he’d take them. He might even join him. We’ve practised together before. I’m sure Dan would be in, too.”

“But would Kevin enjoy his precious alone-time on the court to be interrupted by the Foxes?” Andrew asks. There’s a hint of scorn in his voice.

“He’s going to have to deal,” Neil says. “Besides, he’s already admitted they’re worth his time. And he can’t really complain when they’re willing to practise in their off-time.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s surprisingly good – properly hot, not too watery, and it doesn’t have that burnt aftertaste that diner-coffee sometimes comes with. He blows on it and takes another sip while Andrew puts his phone away.

A second later, Neil feels his own phone vibrate where his duffel is touches his thigh.

It’s a text from Kevin: “Don’t think I won’t send them away if they waste my time.”

Neil raises and eyebrow. “If you do, you’ll have to walk home,” he texts back.

Apparently, Kevin doesn’t deign to write a reply.

There is another unread message that Neil hadn’t noticed before. It’s from last night, sent around 9pm, and it’s from Nicky.

All it reads is “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! ;-)”

Neil doesn’t know what to write back, so he drops his phone unceremoniously back into the bag.

Their food arrives not long after that, and Neil does a double take.

There are Andrew’s waffles, yes, and there’s toast, too, but the waitress also puts down a big plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and smiles warmly. When she returns, she adds two more plates; one with hash browns and one with blueberry pancakes. Finally, she sets down a jug of maple syrup. Then she smiles and leaves them to it.

“Andrew,” Neil says, staring at the plethora of food in front of him. “What is this?”

“It’s food, Neil. I’d imagine you know what that is. You were the one who wanted to stop for breakfast in the first place.” He’s already stabbing one of the sausages with his fork.

“Yes,” Neil says, slowly – he wants to say “we didn’t order this” and then realises that this is what Andrew did when he went after their waitress. “This is enough food to feed an army.”

He is met with an indifferent look. “Neil. Listen,” Andrew says. “You haven’t eaten more than some cheese stuffed between two slices of bread since yesterday morning. Now I don’t care if you have some kind of issue with having more than toast for breakfast – we’re not here to re-enact your abscondence. So eat something already and don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

Neil shakes his head – it’s not refusal, but rather half-amused disbelief. He regards Andrew for a moment longer, and digs in.

* * *

 

They almost finish everything: Neil gives up at the last pancake, and Andrew abandoned the sausages in favour of his waffles. Looking out of the window, he drinks his second cup of coffee contentedly.

It’s close to noon. Andrew looks at him to see if he’s finished, and Neil empties his cup before nodding.  Neil digs around in his bag for his wallet, but when he takes it out, Andrew glares at him.

“I ordered most of it, and I don’t need your money, Josten,” he says, before putting some cash on the table.

It’s still cold when they get outside, but Neil feels considerably warmer than he did before they stopped. “So, where to next?” he asks.

Andrew considers this for a moment. “Jamestown isn’t that big a city,” he says. “There are a few shops. We can stay, or we can keep going.”

Neil waits for him to say more, but realises that Andrew is leaving the decision up to him. He looks down the street, thinking.

“Let’s keep going,” he says, after a moment. We have two more days, and we might as well make the most of it, right?”

Nodding wordlessly, Andrew digs out his keys and they head for the car.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bits of German in the beginning are from a song called "1000 Kilometer bis zum Meer" by Luxuslärm.  
> Essentially, they translate to this:  
> -  
> "We can take the next exit  
> Or keep driving  
> Yes, I know it's late  
> Come, let's drive through the night  
> Until we can see the sun  
> Don't tell me that we can't"


	3. Chattanooga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Five minutes, Josten. You were in there for _five minutes._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings (and added tags for this chapter) include: mentions of blood, and descriptions of violence. Nothing too graphic, but to be on the safe side, I'll include it anyway.
> 
> I... have literally no excuse for how late this is. I know I said it would take me a while to update, but there are limits, and I feel like I've somersaulted over them. All I can say is I'm sorry, and I hope I'll be able to have the next chapter up sooner than the time I took with this one.

 

_In a blaze of fear I put a helmet on a helmet_

_Counting seconds through the night and got carried away_

_Now I’m standing on the overpass_

_Screaming at the cars_

_“Hey – I wanna get better.”_

 

 

It’s a mostly overcast day; a few sunrays peek out here and there between the clouds and glisten golden against the grey sky above. It’s a two hour ride – more like two and a half – and the car flies smoothly over the asphalt. Neil could fall asleep right there. It’s not that he’s tired, no; he slept well and longer than he normally has a chance to. But the motion is even and relaxing.

Andrew holds onto the steering wheel with one hand and fiddles with the radio with the other, changing stations until, presumably, he finds something he likes.

Or doesn’t hate, at any rate.

Eventually he finds one – there’s a song playing that Neil doesn’t immediately recognise, and really, he should have. It takes a moment to place the tune that plays, and it clicks only when he glances at Andrew, the corner of his mouth is just the slightest bit lifted, in a way he only does when it’s just the two of them, and more often than not he refrains from doing it even then.

In his defence, Neil usually keeps his phone either silent or on vibrate.

The song that plays is the same one that Andrew had mockingly set as Neil’s ringtone all those months ago. The song to which Andrew’s own ringtone had been set.

Neil idly wonders if Andrew had ever bothered to change his – Neil hadn’t – before he reaches for the radio, intending to change the station, but Andrew swats his hand away and instead turns the volume up a bit.

“Your sense of humour is dreadful,” Neil tells him, fighting to keep his face straight.

“Hardly my fault that I have to dumb it down for you.”

Neil entertains the idea of punching his arm for just a second, but this is Andrew; they’re going about 80 mph on the Interstate and Neil doesn’t want to die. He uses his other hand to quickly turn the knob to a nondescript station and settles for leaning back into the seat as the car fills with a noise that’s half pop music, half static.

Other than glancing at him from the corner of his eye, Andrew doesn’t react. Neil knows it’s deliberate. He knows Andrew isn’t going to change the station just to show Neil how little he cares, but that doesn’t mean he stops feeling smug as the static grows worse.

It takes another seven minutes before he caves. Andrew is, apparently, better at car warfare than he is, and when the noise becomes so bad it’s headache-inducing, Neil sighs in defeat and motions towards the radio; a gesture that clearly says, _‘fine, you’ve won. Go ahead.’_  

Andrew, of course, doesn’t do anything.

“Now you’re just being a difficult,” Neil tells him, and changes back to the station they were listening to before.

* * *

 

They make it to Chattanooga a bit before 3pm. Neil had to pull out the map for the last thirty minutes of the way, to make sure they wouldn’t miss any turns, but other than that, they didn’t have any trouble.

“I’d say we should search for a place to sleep first, then decide what we’re going to do?” Neil asks when they stop at a red light. He receives a nod in reply.

The light turns green.

Andrew navigates them through the streets with an ease that comes from years of driving in cities, and a grace that resembles that of someone from Oakland PD.

(That is, with no grace at all.)

He crosses the next light when it’s not exactly yellow anymore, makes a right turn with arguably more speed than necessary, causing a woman on a bicycle to hit the break and swerve onto the pavement to avoid being hit. Neil smiles apologetically at her even though he knows they’ve already passed before she could have seen.

Chattanooga, at first glance, appears to be a very lively city. There are many people on the streets, but not enough to make it appear overly crowded. The buildings are modern, big glass fronts and interesting architectural designs make them interesting to look at. They pass a square with a bridge in it – a _wavy_ bridge – that seems to serve no purpose other than to impress people with its impractical structure, and a building with a big banner hanging down from it, proclaiming that Chattanooga is _‘no place to dream small.’_

Finding a place to stay turns out to be a lot easier than back in Jamestown. They see a few hotels that Andrew drives straight by without pausing. But there’s one – it looks like an old train station – that he takes a glance at before giving Neil the same look he did before breakfast that morning.

 _‘We’re not here to re-enact your abscondance,’_ he’d said. It’s a look that leaves very little room to argue.

Neil looks at the sign, and then says, “sure, why not?”  because really, he doesn’t have a choice, and it’s not like they don’t have the money to pay for the extra dollars a night.

( _“Choo-Choo Hotel”_ the sign reads. Neil raises an eyebrow.)

It’s a colossal building, built from bricks and with an impressive arch over the entrance. There’s a sign on the roof of the building that Neil can’t read from this angle, no matter how much he cranes his neck to look upwards, but it’s train-shaped from what he can tell, and he expects it has the name of the hotel on it. Andrew places a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him forward.

The entrance hall is big and bright, with white walls and large window fronts. Neil stares because – well. Hotels have never been anything but places to sleep, and he’s never paid much attention other than to the layout, and things that could possibly aid in an impromptu escape.

This is different.

He’s never quite seen a place as grand as this, much less slept in one, not even when his mother and he had been relatively sure of their safety, at least for a few days.

It’s a beautiful foyer, inasmuch as Neil can be a judge of architectural beauty.

It’s also strangely intimidating.

He’s never stayed in a place like this. It’s a luxury he never needed, still does not need. In the past year, Neil has grown used to sharing standard-sized apartments with others – first Matt and Seth, then just Matt, his wide selection of DVDs and the surprisingly comfortable couch with the coffee stain they always covered with one of the pillows.

And now the other apartment with Nicky and Kevin and Andrew; the beanbag chairs, which, even in the short time he’s been in that room, have unofficially become Neil’s and Andrew’s, the table that is always at least partially covered in Kevin’s sports magazines – not that Neil is complaining – and the remaining rooms, all of which have something of Nicky’s in them, whether it be a shirt or his phone; his sunglasses or the key he always seems to be misplacing.

One morning, Neil found a photo of Nicky and Eric under the bed. He has no idea how it got there – Nicky had just beamed at him, with a “thanks, I’ve been looking for that _for days_!” when he returned it and sauntered back into the living room.

The next day after his morning run, there was a different photo hidden half-underneath his pillow and his blanket. A snapshot, and a rather blurry one at that, of him and Andrew, sitting on the beanbag chairs.

There was nothing written on the back, but he’d caught Nicky looking at him when he found it. Nicky had said nothing, but waved his own photo as if in reply.

Neil keeps that photo in his wallet, folded and hidden behind his ID.

Andrew has already made his way to the reception, clearly unimpressed, but he looks back over his shoulder at Neil and doesn’t say anything when Neil doesn’t immediately follow. Coming from Andrew, it’s a form of understanding.

He looks at Neil again, when he’s talking to the receptionist, and this time, it’s more as if in contemplation. Neil takes that as his cue to follow, but Andrew is already being handed a key, so he makes his way back.

“I have never seen someone juggle expressions of awe and claustrophobia quite the way you manage to,” Andrew tells him. “It would be impressive if it wasn’t so tedious.” He doesn’t stop when he reaches Neil and instead throws the key at him before walking past to the other set of doors, leading to the inner yard of the hotel. Adjusting his duffel bag, Neil follows.

“Ah, but I told you,” he replies. “I’m interesting.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Neil smiles.

* * *

 

 

He’s not prepared for the sight that greets him.

(He should have been, of course, considering the onomatopoetic name of their hotel, or the fact that the inner yard they crossed is, despite all the flowers, ultimately a prettified platform. He should have been, but the sight of an actual train car still surprises him.)

He stares down at the key in his palm, confirming that the number on the keychain really is the same as the one on the vehicle. Beside him, Andrew sighs impatiently and snatches the key out of his hand.

“The door won’t open by itself, Neil,” he says, and takes the last two steps forward.

“I know. I just – I wasn’t expecting there to be an actual train.”

Andrew gives him a look that says he is intentionally being obtuse and Neil wonders if Andrew knew they would be sleeping in a train car or if he was just better at hiding his surprise.

Or, Neil thinks, maybe he just doesn’t care either way.

Andrew has already opened the door, and he presses the key back into his hand as he pushes Neil in front of him and into the room.

The first few steps past the door are narrow, their bags not helping as they squeeze past the walls. There’s a door on the right that leads to a bathroom, which, at a first glance, appears a lot more spacious than Neil expected – maybe even bigger than the one they had in Jamestown.

The righthand side wall ends where the bathroom does, making the actual room part of the train car double in size.

A table with two chairs are under the window on the left, and a dresser is pushed against where the bathroom wall ends.

Above, there are storage racks for their luggage – if they had any.

Andrew walks around him and dumps his bag on the queen-sized bed unceremoniously. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that they’ll be sharing, so Neil doesn’t comment on it.

Placing the duffel on the chair, he puts the key in the pocket of his jeans, before going back to the bathroom to wash his face.

It really is bigger than the one in Jamestown.

The interior in general is grander than one would expect from the outside, even if it probably doesn’t quite match up to the rooms in the actual building – he knows that those exist because he’s seen the evacuation plan signs in the foyer. So the guests get to choose between the luxury that surely comes with the rooms, or the fun factor that comes with the train cars.

Which, Neil realises, is exactly the point.

Andrew knew Neil would have been uneasy staying in that hotel, but he also didn’t want to back down from the point he was trying to make, which was not to pander to Neil’s habits.

Unconsciously, he moves his hand to the pocket of his jeans where the room key rests comfortably against where his other keys are.

Back in the sleeping area, Andrew is sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand.

“Texting Kevin?” Neil asks, as he pulls out one of the chairs and plops down on it.

Andrew looks up, gives a short nod and goes back to his text. When he’s finished, he puts the phone in his pocket. “Where to?” he asks.

“I don’t know... what’s there to do in Chattanooga?”

* * *

 

They decide to skip lunch in– not that Neil is even hungry after the kind of breakfast they had – favour of getting to the caves relatively early.

Ruby Falls is supposed to be one of the most impressive cave systems in all of America, if the hotel staff is to be believed. Neil has never been to one, so he has no frame of reference.

It turns out to be pretty amazing however – they settle for going through the caves at their own pace, without a tour guide, and the rock formations they see along the path are as interesting as they are stunning.

If Andrew is bored by any of it, he doesn’t mention it, so Neil takes that as a good sign.

The highlight of their visit is the underground waterfall halfway through the cave. It’s about a hundred and fifty feet high, give or take, and illuminated by lights in different colours. Neil takes pictures of it, thinking that Nicky, if not all the Foxes, would want to see it.

He glances at the waterfall through the screen, then at the actual thing, that at Andrew from the corner of his eyes.

Andrew notices. He raises an eyebrow.

Neil holds up the phone a bit higher. “Yes or no?” he asks, hesitantly.

He doesn’t think Andrew will go for it, but he wants to at least try. This is new for him, all of it, going somewhere with no other intention than to make memories. It’s not something he’s ever been allowed. He didn’t think he’d feel as at home anywhere but in the Fox Tower; the Foxhole Court, but being here, with Andrew, seeing new things... he wants this. He wants to remember this.

Andrew, against all expectation, rolls his eyes and catches Neil’s wrist, pulling him closer towards the waterfall.

“A hundred and five,” he says.

He doesn’t move until Neil has taken the picture.

It takes Neil two attempts to get a good one; the first one is a bit blurry and too dark. He waits for the lights around the waterfall to get a little brighter before he snaps another. He’s smiling in this one, a small smile, while Andrew looks... well. Maybe “glaring” is an exaggeration, but it comes close.

Neil loves it. He saves the picture before putting the phone away.

Already halfway into the next room, Andrew stops. “Take your pictures,” he says. “I won’t be blamed if the Foxes complain about the lack of photographic evidence.”

They choose not to explore the Lookout Mountain when they’re outside again, because that is an unnecessary height to which Andrew just isn’t willing to subject himself, but at Neil’s suggestion, they do stop for ice cream at ‘ _Mr. T’s Pizza and Ice Cream’_ on Tennessee Avenue. Neil gets the ice cream while Andrew parks the car: cookies and cream for Andrew, and vanilla for himself, after which they make the short trip down to the bottom Incline Rail station in St. Elmo Avenue to watch as the train makes its way up the mountain side.

It’s incredibly steep – an almost seventy-three percent grade straight up, if the signs are to be believed. Neil doesn’t regret not going up; for now, he’s content to just watch. But it does look interesting, and he dares to file it away in his mind as a place to come back to someday.

He takes pictures though. Of the train, and then his ice cream, because Nicky has sent him pictures of his food before, and Neil thinks it might make him happy to get more than a one-word reply for once.

Not five minutes after he sends it, he gets a reply consisting entirely of colons and capital “D”s, and then, shortly after, a second one saying “jealous!” which has more exclamation marks than are strictly necessary.

He takes a picture of the strange bridge when they see it again, and a street they walk down that has interesting looking shops, and of the Tennessee River in the distance as they’re driving past (though that one comes out a bit blurred).

He takes a picture of Andrew when he’s slightly distracted looking at his own phone, knowing he’ll never show that to anyone – least of all Nicky – but he keeps it anyway.

* * *

 

“I’m driving back to the hotel for food,” Andrew informs him some time after the sun has set.

Neil doesn’t know how long they’ve been out, but he’s started to get hungry, too, so he doesn’t object.

They park the car in the hotel’s parking lot, but they don’t go inside. Although they could, technically, eat in the dining car they remodelled. Andrew looks at him.

“We passed a grill further down on main street,” Neil says, end of the sentence raised just enough to make it a question.

Said grill is packed when they get there, but they manage to find a small table. Andrew orders two beers to go with the food.

“Don’t tell me you’re still afraid?” he asks, when he sees Neil’s expression.

“I’m not _afraid_. You know I just don’t really drink.”

“You did when we went to Blue Ridge, and again in Columbia.”

“Yeah, but that was-“ _that was with the Foxes_ , he doesn’t say.

“It’s one beer, Neil. _I_ am here,” Andrew tells him, “and you have nothing left to hide.”

Neil can‘t argue with that – with either assertion, so he takes the bottle from Andrew without further argument. They don’t really talk much during dinner, other than to agree on getting up earlier to leave the next day – Andrew only paid for one night at the hotel anyway, and Neil wants to see as many places as they can before they return.

The rest of it is spent in silence, but it’s not an uncomfortable one.

Andrew has already emptied his bottle when they’re finished with their food. Neil offers to stay behind and get the bill, so Andrew can head outside and have a smoke, while he finishes his drink.

He has just finished his drink and paid, moving to get up when someone blocks his path. It’s a guy his age, maybe a little bit older, with brown hair. Not tall, but taller than him, and reeking of alcohol. He’s close, maybe a little under three feet from where Neil is sitting – it’s not enough to stop him from standing up if he wanted to, but Neil thinks it’s supposed to be intimidating.

If Neil knows anything about body language – and he does, eight years on the run will teach you things like that – this guy is looking for a fight.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Yo, what’s up with your face?” the guy slurs, loudly. He jabs a finger at Neil cheek and Neil recoils instinctively.  He draws back. Laughs. “You look like shit, man.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dude, did you hear me? I said you look like shit!”

“I heard you,” Neil says. “Was that supposed to offend me? Because if so, you’re not doing a very good job.”

This seems to sober the guy up a little. His eyebrows draw together, and he looks angry.

“You piece of shit.”

“That coming from the guy who apparently fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

“Are you fucking with me? I’m not taking that from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Neil asks, eyebrow raised. The guy takes a step closer.

“Yeah, a fucking boy toy like you. Did your boyfriend do that to you? You need to put a leash on him. Or are you too much of a fucking pussy?”

And that, well, that does it, really. The fact that someone would _ever_ assume that Andrew was the one who put those scars there – it makes Neil want to hit him over the head with a baseball bat.

He settles for standing up in one fluid motion, chair scraping against the floor.

Look forward, Matt had taught him. Not at the shoulders, not at the chest. Look forward, look for openings. Don’t put your thumb in your fist because you might break it.

Neil pulls his hand back and punches, aiming for face.

The guy tries to sidestep, but his movements are slow and uncoordinated, probably due to the alcohol, and so Neil manages to hit his nose.

There’s a crack – he might have actually broken it. It starts bleeding at any rate.

The payback comes quickly and, unfortunately for Neil, in no way hesitant even despite him being drunk. Neil dodges the first punch easily, but then his back hits the table. The second punch lands against his jaw and Neil tastes blood.

Split lip, probably.

He’s had worse.

Before Neil can do anything like move out of the way, and before the guy has a chance to strike out again, he’s suddenly gone from Neil’s view, and Neil straightens to find Andrew pressing him against the wall, one hand at his throat. He doesn’t have a knife out, not yet, but Neil knows it wouldn’t take Andrew two seconds.

It’s gotten quiet, and people are staring. The waiter is standing a couple of feet away, looking lost; if he tries to meddle, it won’t end pretty, and Neil wills him to stay out of it.

When the man tries to move, Andrew shifts, pressing harder against his throat. Neil can see the glint of metal. No one else seems to have seen it yet, and maybe Neil only notices because he knows to expect one. It should be odd, perhaps, that a man who’s taller than Andrew by a head should be so powerless, and maybe that’s why no one is doing anything. Neil though, he knows what Andrew’s capable of, and he isn’t surprised.

“Andrew.” Neil says it calmly. It’s not a warning, if Andrew decided to do anything, Neil would most likely not be able to stop him. It’s more of a reassurance. “It’s okay. He’s not worth it.”

There’s a moment where nothing happens, and then Andrew says, “You need to learn how to mind your own business. The next time I see you, I will kill you, are we clear?”

Only after he receives a small nod in return does Andrew let go.

He steps back and turns, pushing Neil in front of him and out of the restaurant. Outside, he grabs Neil’s wrist, dragging him down the street. They round the corner, and Andrew pushes him against a wall.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, prodding the skin around Neil’s mouth with his thumb. Neil grins and does his best not to flinch when Andrew hits a sore spot. Of course, Andrew sees anyway, and glowers at him. “Five minutes, Josten. You were in there for five minutes, and you manage to get into a fight."

"I'm fine."

The next press to the sore skin is more deliberate. "You _are_ an idiot.” 

Shrugging, Neil tells him, “He was bothering me.” At Andrew’s scowl, he adds, “Apparently he thought it was a good idea to comment on my scars. I let him know I didn’t appreciate that. Besides, someone needed to teach him not to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“And you decided that someone had to be you?” Andrew asks. “How selfless. How moronic.”

He grabs Neil’s chin to turn his head this way and that, assessing the damage, before his hand drops to the base of Neil’s throat. “I could have killed him,” he says, calmly. His voice doesn’t give anything away, but Neil sees the dark look in his eyes. “I should have.”

Seemingly satisfied, Andrew’s hand falls away.

“Not worth it,” Neil replies. “I will not let some drunk guy calling the police put a premature end to our weekend.”

“This, of course, having nothing to do with your dislike of the police?”

“Obviously.” Neil pushes away from the wall, and, when Andrew doesn’t step away, leans in a little. “Yes or no?” he breathes.

Instead of replying, Andrew closes the distance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably also point out that I've never been to Chattanooga. Or Tennessee. Or, y'know. America.  
> So please forgive any inaccuracies. I did my best!
> 
> Song lyrics are taken from "I wanna get better" orginally by The Bleachers, though I prefer the cover from Against The Current andThe Ready Set :)


End file.
